Chapter 9 #2
Rachel lingered on the porch longer than she meant to, watching the children spiral through the egg hunt like badly programmed drones, shouting over each other every time they cracked a clue.
Lauren had stationed herself at the bottom of the steps, arms crossed and a referee’s patience on her face, doling out just enough advice to keep the hunt moving, but not so much as to risk a sibling brawl.
From inside came the muffled clatter of Thomas stacking plates in the dishwasher.
For a moment, the world felt balanced and easy.
Lucas nudged her elbow. “Want to escape the chaos? Show me the famous Lauren Henshaw perennial border.”
It was a harmless enough excuse, but Rachel caught the edge of something in his voice—a hesitancy, maybe, or just nerves.
She nodded, and they slipped off the porch and into the tangle of garden that separated the yard from the neighbor’s.
The grass was already patchy with new growth, soft and cold underfoot, and the air smelled of earth and last year’s mulch.
They followed a winding stone path past the forsythia, which was trying its best to look alive, and on toward the back fence.
The fence was nothing special, just a run of weathered cedar posts and slats that marked the end of Lauren’s property and the beginning of a shallow bank that sloped toward the harbor.
But the view was worth the walk: the water, bright and restless; the faint haze over the peninsula, and the way the horizon seemed to promise that something good was always coming.
Lucas fell in beside her, hands in his jacket pockets. For a while, they didn’t talk; they just listened to the sound of the kids shouting and the faint hum of a lawnmower from across the street.
The path bent at the end toward a stand of dogwood, the branches loaded with white blossoms. Rachel stopped there, breathing in the faint, powdery smell of the flowers.
She traced a petal with her fingertip, marveling at how delicate it seemed, how determined to endure the cold snap predicted for the next day.
Lucas stood just behind her. She could feel him gather himself. She knew this rhythm, the way he’d always paused before saying something that mattered—a legacy, maybe, of having grown up in a family where interruptions were currency.
He cleared his throat. “You know, I used to think the best thing about Willow Point Shore was the way the water always looked different, no matter how many times you saw it.”
Rachel smiled at that. “I know. I think that’s why I always come back. Even when I swear I won’t.”
He took a half-step closer. “I’m glad you did. Come back, I mean.” His voice was quieter than usual, and he looked down at the grass, then back at her. “This last year…it’s been a lot. But I kept thinking about how it would have gone if you’d left again. If you’d just…gone.”
Rachel reached for a quip, but nothing came.
Lucas’s hand found hers. He squeezed, not tight, but with a kind of finality. “I don’t want to go back to before. I like now.” He took a breath. “I like now a lot.”
Rachel heard herself laugh, short and unguarded. “You make it sound like we’re ancient.”
“We’re not kids,” he said, and his thumb traced the back of her hand. “But I think we’re better at this now. We don’t mess things up just for the hell of it.”
She looked at their joined hands. “I don’t mess things up for the hell of it,” she said, feigning offense. “I have a system.”
“Yeah, well…” Lucas hesitated, and then, with a visible act of will, let go of her hand and reached into his jacket pocket.
The box was small and navy blue, the kind with a hinge that snaps when you open it. Inside, a ring—simple, gold, a clear oval stone that caught the sun just right.
Rachel’s heart kicked. She didn’t move. Her mind, usually so quick with words, gave her absolutely nothing.
Lucas dropped to one knee on the uneven path, which made the whole thing a little wobbly. There was a circle of white petals around them, like a scene from a movie that was maybe a little on-the-nose, but Rachel didn’t care.
“Rachel Forster,” Lucas said. “Will you marry me?”
Rachel, for her part, went briefly and totally silent. Then she snorted. “You’re supposed to give a speech.”
He grinned, suddenly looking seventeen again. “I thought I’d let you do the talking.”
She covered her mouth, half laughing, half crying. “You’re terrible at this.”
“Is that a yes?”
She nodded, because the words still weren’t coming, and in that moment, she felt something loosen in her chest that she’d been holding on to for so long, she’d forgotten how tight it was. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”
Lucas slid the ring onto her finger. It fit, of course. He’d always been good at details.
They sat there for a minute, just breathing and listening to the distant sound of the twins arguing about marshmallow peeps. The air was brisk, and Rachel could feel her hands shaking, but she didn’t mind.
After a bit, she said, “You didn’t even ask my dad’s permission, you heathen.”
Lucas straightened up, wiped his knee, and said, “I figured he’d rather see it done than hear about it.” His voice was steady, but his eyes were wet. “You want to tell them, or should I?”
“I want to watch Lauren’s head explode,” Rachel said. “Let’s do it together.”
They walked back toward the house, hand in hand.
The sun was lower now, the light slanting gold through the dogwood.
As they reached the porch, Lauren spotted them and let out a shriek that would have alarmed the local wildlife.
“Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness!” she hollered, then charged across the deck and enveloped Rachel in a hug that nearly knocked her over.
Sam and Olivia, seeing their mother lose all composure, sprinted in from the yard, demanding to know if there were more desserts or if someone had died.
When Rachel held out her hand, the twins launched into a rapid-fire interrogation: How did he do it?
Was it romantic? Were there photos? Could they be in the wedding?
Lauren, still hugging her, started rambling about possible dates, themes, and whether the lighthouse was available for private events.
Thomas, who’d come out onto the porch with his coffee, watched the chaos unfold for a long moment. Then, he set his cup down, walked over, and gripped Lucas’s hand in both of his. He nodded—just once, but the way he did it made Rachel’s eyes go hot.
The next hours blurred together in a rush of calls, more coffee, and declarations of who was going to be in charge of what.
By dusk, the dining room looked like a florist’s explosion, with Lauren and the twins clipping every flower in the yard for practice bouquets.
Lucas caught Rachel’s eye from across the room and gave her a look that said, “Is this what you wanted?”
It was, actually.
***